


White Christmas

by Sonicmeriver (Lakela)



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:43:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakela/pseuds/Sonicmeriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years later, during a white Christmas Eve.</p><p>This is the fifth and last entry of the Mistletoe series, written as a collaboration in the Tatennant fandom. So before you read that, make sure you get to “The Ghost of Christmas Past”, “Giddy”, “Bad Luck” and “Coming Unglued”. (Written by the fabulous Bee, Nina, Merve and Rachel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Christmas

She sits by the kitchen window nursing a cuppa and watching the snowflakes settle on her backyard.

Normally she’d appreciate a white Christmas as much as anyone, but it’s because of the damned snow that she’s sitting alone in a half-empty house in London, rather than at home, in L.A., celebrating Christmas with her daughter.

At least Twig, who was meant to come spend the holidays with them in L.A., had made it out of Heathrow in time and her daughter won’t be alone.

Her eyes shift back to the crumbled napkin sitting on the table. Why did she have to find this today? Of all days, on Christmas Eve.

Some of the numbers have faded a little, but most are still legible.

She’d kept the napkin, of course she had; the boy had been endearing, not to mention really quite good looking. But he’d also been drunk and she knew that by calling, she’d only be setting herself up for disappointment.

If only things had stayed that way.  

She hadn’t seen David in... what, four years now?

It had been mostly her doing. She’d been the one to start making excuses for lunch or dinner. She simply couldn’t do it anymore, pretending to be friends. Pretending it was perfectly normal to see each other constantly. She’d even started lying to Adrian as to whom she was seeing. It was like having an affair... without the actual affair.

Adrian, bless. She misses him. When she realised she would be stranded in London for Christmas she had been tempted to ask him over. But it wouldn’t have been fair on him, she knew that, so she’d decided against it.

She stands up on whim, takes the scribbled napkin and chucks it in the bin.

“There,” she says to no one in particular.

She is done sulking for tonight. She’ll take a bubble bath and watch a movie and forget about Christmas, about her messed up life, and most of all about him.

It’s when she’s about to step into the bath that the doorbell rings.

She stops, her toes already in the water, and waits hoping the doorbell won’t ring again. No one knows she’s still in London, she decided not to tell anyone when her flight was cancelled.

To her disappointment, the bell insists.

She puts a bathrobe around her shoulders and goes to the door to peer through the peephole. If someone is trying to sell her something on bloody Christmas Eve, they’ll get an earful.

But it isn’t a salesmen (even if he’s suspiciously dressed like one) instead it’s the last person she was expecting to see.

“Catherine?” he asks, from the other side of the door.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Catherine, I know you’re there. Erin told me.”

She still doesn’t say anything.

“Catherine? Please let me in... I promise I won’t be long. I just... I brought some Christmassy stuff.”

When she looks again through the peephole she’s greeted with an enormous brown eye.

“’Ello,” the eye says.

She sighs and opens the door.

David is clad in a smart outfit, somewhat diminished by the plastic M&S bags that surround him. He’s smiling his trademark goofy grin, but at the same time he looks...

...old.

Not old, of course, but older. It’s only been four years. Does it show on her as well?

That’s when she remembers that she’s only wearing a bathrobe that she self-consciously wraps tighter around herself.

“Hi David,” she says. “Care to explain?”

“Will you let me in?” he asks, his grin not faltering.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“What your purpose is and how long you plan to stay.”

“I brought food and Christmas merriment,” he says cheerily, raising the bags. “And I won’t stay a second longer than I’m welcomed.” He doesn’t wait, however, to find out if he’s welcomed at all, because as soon as he’s finished speaking he waltzes into the house and into the kitchen. “Don’t mind me!” he calls from the kitchen, “I won’t be a minute!”

She blinks twice, closes the door and goes into her bedroom to put some actual clothes on. She slips into a pair of jeans and a baggy shirt and goes into the kitchen to find that David has set up two plates with chicken and mince pies. Next to them he’s filled two champagne flute glasses with what looks like apple juice.

“Where did you find those flutes?”

He turns towards her, still busy with the arrangements which even include a couple of crackers. “In that cupboard,” he says signalling towards it.

“I have champagne flutes?”

“Apparently. Here, want to make yourself useful?”

She murmurs, “Not particularly,” but it goes completely ignored.

“Bring those to the table,” he continues, giving her the warm plates. “I’ll join you in a heartbeat.”

She takes the plates from him, sets them on the table and proceeds to slump down on a chair resignedly as she waits for him.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” she says when he finally shows up.

“You wouldn’t rather spend Christmas Eve alone,” he says raising his glass towards her for a toast.

“I would.”

“Really?” he says genuinely surprised.

“David, you don’t seem to realise, we haven’t seen each other in over four years.”

“Yeah but,” he falters. “We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

“David...”

“I called to wish you a merry Christmas, I thought you’d be in L.A., but Erin told me you were stuck in London and where to find you. I thought you’d be glad to have some company on Christmas Eve.”

“You don’t think I would have called myself if I wanted company?”

“Well...” He looks so hurt that she almost regrets having said that... even if she means it. She takes a deep breath and picks up the glass, raising it towards him.

“I’m sorry David, I am happy that you came. Thank you. The meal looks lovely and smells delicious.”

He looks unsure, but smiles anyway, picking up his own glass and toasting. “To us?” he says.

“To us,” she agrees.

Dinner is quite uneventful. The food is lovely and they have so much to catch up on. Yet somehow they manage to avoid anything truly meaningful. He knows Adrian left the picture not soon after she moved permanently to L.A., but doesn’t ask about current boyfriends. She asks about the kids but not about Georgia. They talk for hours and yet manage not to say anything at all. She doesn’t even ask whether he’ll be missed tonight.

Eventually, the small talk starts wearing thin and they spend more time in silence than they do talking.

“Maybe we should...,” she suggests, when he tries to pour some more apple juice into his glass and realises they’ve emptied yet another juice box. “Call it a night?”

“Yeah, I guess... Seeing as my plan to get you drunk was doomed to fail.”

“Is that right?”

“Aye,” he offers him a crooked grin and she smiles back. “Anyway...”

“They’ll be wondering where you are,” she doesn’t say who ‘they’ are.

“They know where I am.”

“Oh.”

She walks him to the door, stopping just before they reach it.

“Can I call you?” he asks. “Before you leave again. Maybe we could have lunch or something?”

“No.”

“Right. Ok.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Got it.”

“Goodbye David,” she says, planting a soft kiss in his cheek.

“Goodbye Catherine.”

She closes the door behind him and collapses against the door, letting her weight drop to the floor. She’s seen people do this in movies and always thought it was an awful cliché, but now she feels the door is the only thing stable around her. Why is it that after four years, he still holds that kind of power over her? The power to turn her into a sodding cliché.

 There’s a knock on the door and she jumps. A moment later, the doorbell rings.

 And again.

She opens the door and David doesn’t wait to be asked in.

“Ok, here’s the thing,” he begins. “I’m forty-six years old. I’ve made my share of mistakes and misguided decisions in my life. I got married when I shouldn’t have and because of that, I have been sleeping on a couch for months now. Waking up early for appearances’ sake so that our kids won’t know there is anything wrong.” Her breath hitches. “But I’m tired of pretending, Catherine. I told my wife where I was going tonight and she knows, as well as I do, that this is where I should be. I promised myself no more pretending and it’s all we’ve been doing tonight.” Catherine opens her mouth to speak. “Let me finish. You kept the number. I saw it in the bin. I got jealous thinking someone else had slipped you their number and recognized it as my own. You kept it, all those years.”

“And threw it away,” she points out.

“But you kept it. I thought, after that night, that you’d forgotten about me. That I didn’t have a chance in hell with the gorgeous ginger that I met in that bar. But you kept it. I’ve been in love with you for longer than I can remember. Probably since that Christmas Eve at the bar. I’m not asking you to be in the same place. I know we haven’t seen each other in a long time. But I’m asking you to give us a chance. A clean slate. A chance to stop pretending. As slow or as fast as we like.”

Her heart is going at a million heartbeats and hour. She wants to say ‘no’, she can’t do this. She can’t believe his words because if she does she’ll be ruined. She won’t make it if he ever changes his mind about any of this. It’s always been like that where he is concerned.

“I got you something for Christmas,” he says, pulling something out from his pocket.

Mistletoe.

“May I?” he asks. She nods. He pulls her hair away softly and places the little twig on her ear. “I think it’s time we started making our own luck. Don’t you?”

She wants to say no, but the words don’t come out of her mouth and before she realises it, she’s nodding again.

She holds her breath as he watches David approach, as if in slow motion; his mouth getting closer, his lips parting, his breath covering the skin on her neck with Goosebumps, until finally, their lips meet.

Soft at first. He tastes of mince pie and apple juice. He feels his tongue asking for entrance and she grants it.

And it’s far from the first time they kiss but it doesn’t feel like any kiss they’ve ever shared. It’s Catherine and David and the choice is theirs.

She breaks apart slightly to say, “we’ll go slow. Yeah?”

He nods, covering her mouth with soft kisses.

“And you won’t change your mind about any of what you said.”

He shakes his head, moving the kisses towards her neck.

“I live in L.A. now,” she says.

“I know. And I have two kids in London.”

“It’ll never work.”

“It will if we make it work. It’s time we stopped letting luck and all the rest decide for us. One step at a time, Catherine. Will you have me tonight?”

And she doesn't need to think her answer.

“Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> A Christmas fic deserved a happy ending!


End file.
